CALLING ALL cold MAMAS! ENTER TO WIN!

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Posted by muffintopmommy | Posted in Awesomeness, Boys, boys, boys! And did I mention, boys?, Friends...you got what I ne-ed, Mom-ness, OH &^%$!!, Random Rage, Retail Therapy, Uncategorized | Posted on 11-02-2013

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Valentine’s Day is fast approaching. With three little kids and almost 13 years of marriage, I’m just hoping hubs will come home from work and sing something romantic to me.

“Let’s go Outback to-niiiight!” 

Curbside takeaway=porn for moms. Aim high. (I know. How greedy of me to hope for more after the promise of microwave slippers a few weeks ago. Don’t get all jealous, ladies. It’s not a good look!)

Hey, we can’t ALL live at Downton Abbey. My cook and lady maid are on extended vacay. Listen, we all have to play the hand we’re dealt! (Sometimes you get to frolic upstairs at Downton and eat with 27 silver utensils, sometimes you have to stir soup downstairs, and sometimes you’re stuck in suburgatory!) I’m not an addict. 

With arctic temps and over two feet of snow dumped on us this past weekend, it’s no shock my Valentine and I have our biggest rows over the thermostat. You’d think the muffin top would insulate but nooooo. Irish McFreezypants had to marry a hot blooded Italian who wears t-shirts inside the house in winter and fans himself with all the dramatics of a strange southern debutante with a Boston accent, “I’m sweeeeltahring!”

I’m sorry, Scahlett O’Hah-ra. Jeez. Since I’m shuffling about like a 4 foot kid from A Christmas Story, I’m not sympathetic!

So imagine my delight when I got the chance to review a Honeywell Energy Smart 360 Surround heater—just in time for the most wonderful time of the year! Along with mah gift of extra, energy efficient warmth, I received the following info which, I believe, demonstrates I am NOT the cray cray one in this house!

JUDGE AND JURY, I REST MY CASE!

MMM HMM. That’s what I’m talkin’ about.

I have to say this is a great little ceramic heater. It’s perfect to put under my desk by my feet while I work on my next book read Peep, and in our playroom which is often chilly since it abuts the non-heated garage–and it’s lightweight enough with convenient carrying handle to tote wherever my muffin top desires! It’s super quiet so it will not disturb any important Mario Kart racing, Lord Grantham viewing, or wine slurping. It has a wonderful control panel allowing you to adjust the temperature depending on how Christmas Story-ish you’re feeling, and how energy conscious you are! (Hey super duper green peeps, tada! You can pre-program the thermostat and even see how much energy you’re using with this heater.) This heater packs a punch as it can blast heat all the way around–hence the 360– or you can just use the 180 for a more targeted effect, and has excellent safety features like an overheat protection device, so you don’t burn the joint down! Bonus! (No really. Remember when Italian boy almost burned the house down thawing a pipe last year?)

Here’s what this little beauty looks like in real life—so you can see the scale:

SEE? TOTALLY COMPACT AND UNOBTRUSIVE!

Good news, m’ ladies (and m’ cold lords), you too can have a chance to experience this gem. Honeywell has graciously offered to send a heater to one lucky, soon to be toasty roasty, muffintopmommy reader. All you have to do is leave a comment with your name, and we will have a super official drawing—probably someone under 8 years old will pick a name out of a mixing bowl. You don’t even have to subscribe to mah blog, like me on Facebook, leave a blood sample, follow me on twitter, Pinterest, or the grocery store! (But I surely love when you do— minus the grocery store stalking–I don’t need you seeing the processed snacks in my cart!) Please enter here by next Monday, February, 18th by midnight. South Floridians need not apply. (I’m kidding! I know it gets like 45 down there at 2 in the morning once a year, you lovelies!). Heaters can be shipped to U.S. addresses only.

So what are you waiting for? Even if you don’t win, microwave slippers and a fabulous portable heater? For $59.99, or roughly the price of a Lands’ End sweater, you’re totally in biz. Visit www.kaz.com for more information on this and other Honeywell heaters.

Stay warm, muffintoppers!

*Honeywell did provide me with a free heater for review purposes. All opinions expressed are 100% my own. As usual. Ahem. 

SOMEONE LOOKS LIKE HE COULD USE SOME HEAT!

 

TALK ME DOWN FROM THE LEDGE—IT’S SWIMSUIT SHOPPING TIME!

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Posted by muffintopmommy | Posted in Awesomeness, Mom-ness, OH &^%$!!, Random Rage, Retail Therapy, Some things just don't fit into a neat little box. The uncategory!, TMI? Says who!, Yo! It's a girl thing! | Posted on 13-06-2012

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Here we I go again.  Next to shopping for the elusive pair of perfect jeans, it’s swimsuits for the win on the hell-o-meter. One of these years I’m gonna be prepared to rock the bathing suit. This is not my year. If it’s your year, no hard feelings—I’ll still share my cocktails with you on the beach. I will. I really will.

This post bears repeating for all those who suffer in silence with my muffin top and me. Good luck? And may the best woman (with the highest credit card and patience limit) win!

I JUST FOUND OUT I COULD MAKE MY OWN CARDS ON SOMEECARDS. WATCH OUT! SANTA DID COME AFTER ALL. OMG!

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Sooooooo. It’s that time again.

Tell me what’s worse than bathing suit shopping?

That’s what I thought.

I’m going away on family vacation/relocation in a few weeks. (We know it ain’t a true vacation with three little kids in tow. I’ll be lucky if I get to read a cereal box never mind a trashy mag–but Imma dance a jig and be grateful because it’s a change of scenery near the beach and the kids love it. If I every play win the lottery, you’ll know where to find me–some beach. I might get off my beach chair if I find out one of my sons becomes President or there’s a 50% shoe sale. Other than that, nice knowing you! My muffin top be planted til I kick it!)

Anyway, since I’m not a lottery winner and have to share the beach with tons of other stanking in shape Tony Horton disciples,  I’ve already hit the panic button, and ordered and returned THREE swimsuits from Lands’ End. Clearly, Lands’ End cannot be wrong THREE times. It’s painfully obvious I am the one who has the WRONG size, WRONG shape, WRONG mirror!!! (Or…. Lands’ End is in a vicious plot with perfectly nice buff strangers jerks in an attempt to undermine my healthy self esteem???????)

Nah.

It’s me.

Not them.

It’s time to get serious.

Alert, Alert: Break out the plastic—we’re in crisis mode.

I know what you’re going to say….why didn’t I just go to a store and try suits on in the first place?

Um hello—why would I want to go pillaging through picked over swimsuit racks (because, if you must know, I already put this super fun shopping excursion off til now because I was waiting to….hold your laughter….lose ten pounds) looking for mama suits and then have to try them on under the harsh glare of fluorescent scrutiny in a dressing room the size of my left butt cheek? This is to speak nothing of….THE SKINNY MIRROR. You know all those stores have mirrors that distort your shape for the better. How many times do I buy something and then get it home, and it never looks as good on at home as it did in the store. Scammers! Oh they know it, too.

SEE! SEE! EVEN THIS LITTLE GIRL GETS IT. THE MIRROR LIES! IT LIES I SAY!

 

I returned a skirt the other day.

“Reason for the return?” the saleswoman asked.

“Your secret skinny mirror got me. When I got it home, it didn’t look half as good on!”

She silently nodded as she handed me back my thirty bones. Woman knew damn right well what I was talking about.

I’m all alone. Sniff. The whole sitch is just a wrongity, wrong, mess of wrongness.

So now I’m in the 23rd hour. I have to throw myself on the mercy of the racks, and hope something will pan out, a miracle will transpire, that some uber geeks in some lab really did manufacture a material that will suck in my muffin top while still affording me the ability to breathe unassisted. And for this, I will pay the princely sum of whatever the hell the price tag says—probably what my first semester of college cost. Oh, and doesn’t that nerd herd know it, the rat bastards. (Look I’m sorry you got stuffed in your locker in high school, really I am, but like the chubby gals had anything to do with it. Take it up with the cheerleaders over in size 2, Urkel. I was nice to everyone!) Bottom line, pocket protector pals, you make-ie, I buy-ie. Save the sob story for group therapy. I’ve got my own problem here.

On bathing suit shopping day, all budgeting goes out the window. I will buy a different brand of something at the supermarket to save a buck these days, but on bathing suit shopping day, MONEY DON’T MATTER YO!!!

THE SUIT COSTS HOW MUCH?????

“Oh kids sorry…..you’ll need to eat mac and cheese every day this month…mommy got her miracle.”

Pri-or-i-ties. It’s good to teach the children young.

But let’s face it, for all my best efforts at gut cammo, the bathing suit trauma is just not fair. You go to any beach, lake or pool in America, and I lifetime guarantee it you will see many grown men who have no problem letting it all hang out. Pot bellies, moobs (moobs=man boobs…don’t say there’s no learnin’ going on here), hairy butt crack peeking out of saggy shorts—oh the guiltiest among them plod along without a second thought. A generic pair of swim trunks and presto—they are ready to rumble and get their swim on. And not a ONE of them has even given birth.

Do you think they wake up in a cold sweat at the very notion of putting something form fitting over their chubby, middle aged, hairy ass Gorilla bodies? No! They don’t even put anything on the top half of their bodies period, and though they’ll never be mistaken for anything close to David Hasselhoff in Baywatch, they preen like they own the joint.

“Hey Butch, toss me another Corona!”

“Here you go, buddy! Volleyball game at 2!” Oh dear God! NO!

The sheer audacity of it all.

A guy can walk into any store and buy a swimsuit off the rack, for a reasonable price, not even try it on, and just like that—they’re in biz.

So let’s review, shall we? Chubby mummy pored through two catalogs, tromped through bathing suit departments reminiscent of war torn Beirut in four stores, ordered and returned (and paid for postage and handling on) three bathing suits over a span of roughly four weeks and ultimately ended up with two bathing suits that cost WAY more than my first car but…Schlumpy O’Hairycrack is on the beach, in less than five minutes, for $14.99 or less shaking his floobie moobs and sucking back his Corona—–party.time. the.end.

WHAT! And we say there’s equality in this country? Oh, I don’t think so!

(And we didn’t even broach the delicate subject of waxing and shaving. I KNOW. I can’t EVEN bear to go there

either.)

WHY I MIGHT MAKE A BAD SOUTHERNER BUT A GREAT LOTTERY WINNAH!

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Posted by muffintopmommy | Posted in Some things just don't fit into a neat little box. The uncategory!, STFU Friday, TMI? Says who! | Posted on 07-03-2012

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Ever since I returned home from Florida, I’ve been plotting in my mind about how I can get back there. I’m not having vacation withdrawal, I’m having weather withdrawal. I know, it’s ridiculous. I’m not saying it’s like I’m up here on the chain gang or something—I love my life here—the people, my house, the gig I’ve got going. It’s unarguably one of the prettiest areas in the country. It’s just that I am telling you, even though I was born and raised right outside Boston and now live in New Hampshire, I swear, this is not where I’m meant to be. Someone in my ancestry took a way wrong turn! So me going somewhere warm for a week is like giving a junkie a crack hit and then taking it all awayyyyy. (That ‘splains why I’m all shaky and shivery and shouty and stabby right now.)

See, I h.a.t.e. the cold. And the older I get, the more I hate it. Being cooped up inside while I *know*  (warm weather people reading my blog–please forgive my tone as I’m relatively sure it’s temporary insanity) other people (me-ow!) are drinking in the aroma of  fresh cut grass while they swim outside makes me ca-rabby. Booooooo.  So….I might have bought a lottery ticket this week. Or three. I know. I know. That’ s a game plan, right? Stay tuned to watch me get struck by lightning!

But I’ve been thinking. It’s probably better this way, that I live in the land of Vitamin D deficiency. If I moved south of the Mason-Dixon line, think about all the bad things that could happen:

1. Melanoma would surely ensue, because let’s review, I vacillate between the color of sugar and flour. And hell, living in the cold is surely better than swimming with the fishes. Maybe it’s for my own good I’m locked up half the year?

2. If I wanted to ensure I ward off melanoma, I’d probably A. bankrupt myself buying Coppertone and B. blind the neighbors with my doughgirl Irish skin…I’d have to provide them with those eclipse glasses. They’d probably throw garlic at me and no one would talk to me at block parties as I stand in the corner drinking my beer out of my Canadian souvenir cup. They’d be all, “Tacky tourist!” and start singing, “One of these things is not like the o-ther!”

3. If I encountered someone rude or surly down south while buying my case of Coppertone, I’d likely blurt out, “Awww, you’re just pissed we won the war!” and stomp off like I did in Pensacola once. And that’s not how a lady should act! (Hey, she started with ME!)

4. I think I’d have night terrors about the bugs. Dude. The bugs. They need their own zip code down there. I saw a bug on the ground at Epcot and it was so stinking big it attracted a crowd. Ok, a crowd of little boys but still. (Seriously. You pay Walt through the nose to get in to go on rides created by literal geniuses, and there are all these boys staring at this…..thing….When the bug is the wow factor at Epcot, that bug ain’t right.) I can only say it was so honkingly huge, I told the boys I thought we could fly home on it. EEEEH.

5. Let’s not underestimate what a challenge it would be to live in a climate where there would be virtually little to no chance of masking the muffin top with a toasty, roasty cable Lands’ End nerd herd sweater or fleece? I’m down with down, yo! Wearing that shizz down there would probably create an international incident when the feds started tailing me thinking I’m all up to no good hiding contraband in my coat on a hot day. “Sorry, officer, no! Please don’t take me away! I don’t have ANY weapons under here—just my muffin top! I love my fami-leee….Noooo! How will I Facebook from the clink?????”

On the other hand…hmm…prison time. Three squares, no worrying about what to cook, no one recoiling at my cooking. Lots of time to pump iron and bond with other chicks—far cry from the frat house. And I’m sure in no time I could get an online MBA, master license plate making, or become an internet reverend! Mama would be proud!

On second thought, maybe I should go turn the heat up and go check those lottery numbers………..

SOMEONE WANTS TO HAVE A THREE WAY? SUUURE.

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Posted by muffintopmommy | Posted in OH &^%$!!, Random Rage, Some things just don't fit into a neat little box. The uncategory!, Uncategorized | Posted on 06-10-2011

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DOROTHY, WE ARE A LONG WAY FROM HOME!

I interrupt this program ‘cuz I gotta tell you, this has been A WEEK. Because I truly dig my faithful MTM readers, I shall spare you the deets. (Do ya really wanna know anyway?) 4 out of 5 random muffintoppers polled agree: somethin’ in the air stanks this week! (And the 5th one was stumblin’ drunk and just didn’t care!) In conclusion, I’ve done the muffin top wrong this week in response. If next week is like this week, my muffin top will have a muffin top. But the good news? I have a pulse, tomorrow is Friday, my pants still fit barely and I dug up one of my fave old posts. If it made grumpity to the umpity laugh today (that would be moi) I thought it might bring you some funnies. Later ‘toppers!

 

Who knew?

Muffintopmommy is a sexpot.

Stop squinting.

For the love of God, what don’t you get?

 S-E-X-P-O-T.

El potto de sexo.

Oh don’t you let the short hair, Lands’ End cardigans, and Tretorns fool you. I think it’s fairly obvious if you read between the lines on this blog, my intentions are clear . If you saw me at Tarjay with the 7 pack of Hanes Her Way grannie panties in my cart with the generic Tostitos, well, that’s my cover. See, I’m bringing sexy back.

TRETORNS. SING WITH ME NOW….DON’T YOU WISH YOUR GIRLFRIEND WAS HOT LIKE ME?

All along, I’ve been trolling for a three way. If you don’t believe me, just read the following email I received at my email addy, janet@muffintopmommy.com. (My comments are in CAPS.)

Hello,

My name is Mike Pervity Perv (Name changed in case his poor mom ever sees this blog!), I represent the adult dating sites SexDatePersonals.com and http://www.thehornymatches.com. WHOA DUDE, YOU REALLY ARE ALL ABOUT CUTTING TO THE CHASE JUST LIKE YOUR DATING SITE. TIME’S A WASTING! MATCH.COM AND EHARMONY? WHO HAS TIME TO FIND OUT IF SOMEONE LIKES PINA COLADAS AND GETTING CAUGHT IN THE RAIN? BTW MIKE? I DO HAVE HALF A BRAIN. I’M A LEO. MY FAVORITE COLOR IS PINK. AND I LOVE THE SMELL OF FRESH CUT GRASS. I DON’T LIKE ROSES ON VALENTINE’S DAY. IT’S CALLED SMALL TALK. TRY IT.

We took a look at your site (http://muffintopmommy.com/) recently (YOU DID? EEEH…I FEEL LIKE I NEED TO WASH MY BLOG IN BLEACH NOW…), and we are interested in a link exchange. (Editor’s note: Ok, first of all, Editor is me! Ahem, anyway, a link exchange is when you list other blogs you like to read on your blog…it’s called a blogroll. If you look on the right hand side of muffintopmommy under blogroll, you will see some funny ass blogs I love love to read. You should check them out…now! Ok, not now now, after you finish this post now!)

MIKIE THREE WAY (MAY I CALL YOU MIKIE THREE WAY? IT KINDA HAS A RING TO IT. KINDA MAKES YOU SOUND GANGSTA COOL WITH A SIDE OF DIRTY BIRD)….I NEED TO KNOW WHICH POST CONVINCED YOU MTM HAS ANYTHING IN COMMON WITH, “THE HORNY MATCHES”? THINK, THINK, THINK…OH! WAS IT THE ONE WHERE I BEG READERS TO TALK ME DOWN FROM THE LEDGE AFTER SWIMSUIT SHOPPING? OH! I KNOW….IT MUST BE THE ONE WHERE I COMPARE MY ARSE TO A GRIZZLY BEAR. WAIT. IT MUSTA BEEN THE HAWT PICTURE I POSTED OF MYSELF IN THAT SMOKING BUTTON DOWN  HOLDING THE BEER THE SIZE OF MY GIGUNDO HEAD ON VACA? MIKE, SERIOUSLY, I NEED TO KNOW FOR MARKET RESEARCH BECAUSE RIGHT NOW MY HUSBAND JUST PEED HIMSELF LAUGHING. HE WON’T BE LAUGHING WHEN HE’S CRYING FOR A TWO WAY NEVER MIND A THREE WAY. OH YES WAY!

Our offer is actually quite interesting , a 3 way (ENOUGH WITH THE THREE WAYS! LET’S REVIEW: SMALL TALK. DO I NEED TO SPELL IT OUT? SHOULD I GET DR. RUTH ON THE HORN?) link as opposed to a reciprocal link. You link to http://www.thehornymatches.com and we link to you on SexDatePersonals.com. We offer the best type of link exchange. Also, SexDatePersonals.com has a very nice directory (A VERY NICE DIRECTORY? LEMME GUESS WHO’S ON THAT HIT LIST…. DAVID DUCHOVNY, TIGER WOODS, JESSE JAMES AND THAT RANDOM DUDE WHO WAS MARRIED TO HALLE BERRY ….YEAH…..NO. I’M ON TEAM ELIN.)  that we have been building so you are sure to find a category there for your site (DON’T BET THE PENTHOUSE IN VEGAS ON THAT, BOYFRIEND). If not, please just make your suggestion to us. (I SUGGEST YOU CALL YOUR MAMA RIGHT AFTER YOU SCRUB WITH CLOROX. ACK!)

Here is our link info: BLABBITY BLAH PERVITY PERV LINK BLAH BLAH.

Have a great week (YOU OFFER ME A THREE WAY AND THEN THE BEST CLOSE YOU CAN MUSTER IS THE UBER GENERIC…HAVE A GREAT WEEK??? FOR REAL? SEE. I COULD DEAL WITH YOU BEING A PERV. I MEAN, WHATEVER FLOATS YOUR…UM, NEVER MIND. I’M JUST SAYING. FREE COUNTRY AND ALL THAT JAZZ. BUT YOU’RE NOT EVEN ORIGINAL. YOU’RE GIVING ME NOTHING TO WORK WITH HERE! I MEAN, AFTER YOU HAVE YOUR HOT THREESOMES DO YOU REALLY CHIRP, ”THAT WAS FUN GUYS! HAVE A GREAT WEEK! MEEP!”

DUDE, YOU’VE GOT NO GAME. NONE. AND THIS IS COMING FROM A MARRIED HAUSFRAU WITH A MUFFIN TOP.  I do hope that we can do business with you in the very near future. (ARE YOU PROPOSITIONING ME? DO BUSINESS WITH ME? I THINK I’LL SIGN OFF NOW BEFORE THE NH STATE POLICE SHOW UP AT MY DOOR AND THROW ME IN THE CLINK FOR SOLICITING. OR THROW YOU IN THE CLINK FOR SOLICITING AND ME IN THE CLINK FOR BEING A….SOLICITEE….WHATEVER. EITHER WAY, STEP OFF MY BLOG, PERV. NOBODY BREAKS UP MY CURRENT THREESOME…THAT’S RIGHT….I HAVE THREESOMES ALL THE TIME…ALL THE TIME!!! ME, THE HUBS, AND THAT CLICKER HE CRADLES EVERY NIGHT. SO SUCK IT! TAKE YOUR THREE WAY STFU SAMMIE AND SCRAM BEFORE I BEAT YOU WITH MY 3 IRON (THAT’S 3 IRON NOT 3 WOOD…. DAMN,  YOU REALLY ARE A DEPRAVED DOCTOR OF DEBAUCHERY!!)

Regards. (UM, NOT TO BE NITPICKY, BUT THAT SHOULD BE A COMMA, NOT A PERIOD AFTER ‘REGARDS’. BUT I IMAGINE YOU MIGHT HAVE BIGGER PROBLEMS, SO, UM…HAVE A GREAT WEEK AND ENJOY YOUR STFU SAMMIE!)

Mike PERVITY PERV PERV

SEO Analyst (AND CHIEF PERV )
http://www.thehornymatches.com
sexdatepersonals.com

I WANT TO BE A GOOD SAMARITAN. BUT NOT THAT GOOD.

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Posted by muffintopmommy | Posted in Friends...you got what I ne-ed, OH &^%$!!, Random Rage, Retail Therapy, Some things just don't fit into a neat little box. The uncategory!, Suburban Madness, Yo! It's a girl thing! | Posted on 04-08-2011

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So, I’m driving home from the grocery store one Friday night (My life really is that exciting. And if you must know, I relish my solo grocery store trips as the glorious taste of freedom that they are.) busting out with some old school Billy Joel. “A bottle of red…a bottle of white…” I croak til…

“DUDE!!!”

There’s a car in front of me driving like 7 miles an hour. It’s weaving from the white line, back to the yellow line, and taking all kinds of crazy wide turns. At first I think I’m seeing things, so I keep following til I realize something’s way wrong and this person is blasted off her a*& (Turns out dude’s a she—so sorry for profiling) or she has to be in the midst of some kind of serious medical emergency.

“Crap.” I think. “I’m gonna have to be a narc and call 911.”

It was so bad I couldn’t not call.  I had visions of her taking out a small family.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“Hi, um, well I’m behind someone who has to be super drunk or having some kind of medical emergency.” Or she’s on crack, legally blind, or sexting her Representative while driving. But I’m no expert.

YOU BETTER NOT BE SEXTING, YOU WIENER!

I tell the woman where I am and give her the license plate number. I’m thinking, okay, bye bye, good luck with it, I’m off to take my groceries home and pick up my fun Friday night take out.

Not so fast.

“Okay, I’m going to need to take down all your contact information and I need you to keep following her. The officer is on his way and he will be looking for you guys. Don’t follow too closely—you need to stay safe!”

“‘Scuse me?”

Hey, I’m not a professional, lady. I’m in my mom car with the three car seats and all my juice boxes and grapes and boneless chicken and popsicles in the way back. Now I’m in hot pursuit of a scofflaw!? I so did not sign up for this!

But the police lady’s got me now. She’s got all my information. SHIT!

Are they going to tell the busted chick who I am? What if she gets sent to the clink and she and her drunken posse come for me? What will I do? I will have to hope I can squish her with my ginormous muffin top and then smash her with my son’s plastic lacrosse stick!

“Hi-ya! Oh don’t you take one more step there drunkylosergirl! I’ve got a Nerf football too and I’m NOT afraid to use it! And see this Transformer? It’s more than meets the eye, so watch it beeeatttch! I will shank your ass with this plastic Power Ranger I fashioned into a knife!”

 I get to an intersection, and instead of going right or left, she pulls straight ahead down this long drive that leads to a school. It’s the only way in or out. She’s a trapped rat now.

Busted!

“Okay, so, she just drove into the school, but I am NOT following her in there—I think she knows I’m following her (hot pursuit, muffin top style) and I don’t want a confrontation!” Come on lady, I’m not getting paid for this and I don’t even have my plastic junior lacrosse stick for protection. Uh ugh! And I just got these fun new Burberry glasses with my eye insurance at Lenscrafters and I am SO not getting them smashed in some suburban scuffle—I simply cannot afford to rebuy them for retail. I wanna be a good Samaritan, but not THAT good.

I tell the dispatcher that I parked in the lot next to the school driveway.

“Okay, wait there for the officer and make sure she doesn’t try to pull out of the school. The officer will be right there.” OMG, what am I going to do if she tries to get away, take out my 1 Adam 12 light from my glove box and put it on top of my SUV? Hey you! Pull over—citizen’s arrest! Ignore the pink lobster flip flops (pink lobster flips=intimidation) and Lands’ End fleece…you’re going DOWNTOWN! Sipowicz and Magnum are meeting me here so no funny stuff.

 

 

I'M GONNA BUST YOU UP IN THESE!

 

Just then the fuzz pulls up. OMG, I think, is this kid even old enough to be a cop? He’s adorable, but he looks like someone I might have baby sat. As I’m pondering if he could get into a bar, he asks me if the woman is still back there and I’m like, yeah dude, I would have totally apprehended her if she tried to split.

Okay, really I said, “Yes.”

So he tells me to sit tight and wait for him. This puzzled me. Am I in trouble? Is this one of those things where if this chick isn’t totally off her rocker, I’m in some hot agua for wasting taxpayer resources? I know I said I longed for quiet time but sitting in the parking lot of a soccer field by a school on a Friday night doing a suburban sting isn’t totally what I had in mind. (This from someone who acts like trolling for produce is a tropical vaca. I know!)

OH YOU ARE SOOO BUSTED!!!

I call the hubs.

“Um, I’m in a bit of a situation, hon. Well, I’m sort of kind of being detained by the police, but I haven’t done anything, I swear!”

“What!”

“Yeah, um, long story but probably won’t have time to get that take out tonight. Kind of tattled on a drunk or sick driver here, and the police are just pulling her over now by the school and he told me to wait for him.”

“Oh my God! What! You will probably have to testify in court!”

Hmmm, I think…..a field trip to court….good news. A potential day of freedom with other grownups, albeit some potentially shady ones—but let’s not split hairs now. But also bad news…this gal might come beat me for narc-ing out on her. I start twisting in my seat, because bottom line? I’m ascared.

I’m having flashbacks to the rough bar I ambled stumbled into after college in a turtleneck sweater, khakis and loafers. It was full of guys in cut off tees, ripping butts and doing shots (fun!), and scantily clad women in tight jeans and huge ass hair that even hurricane gale force winds couldn’t have dented (not fun!). A hideously frightening gum snapping chick busted me gasping for air and gawking a second too long at her spraying her iron clad helmet o’ hair in the bathroom and snarled, “Whaddyah think yah f*&^%n’ lookin’ at blowndie?!” (I know, glass houses. Like my fake ass hair was really blonde!)

I start to sweat at the very memory.

“Oh yeah, no, I’m sure it will be fine. Heh, I’m sure they have to ask everyone for their info so people can’t call making stuff up. Just wanted to fill you in so you weren’t worried wondering why I was taking so long. Listen, I gotta go in case he comes back.”

So I wait. And wait. And wait. I’m thinking this chick is SOO busted because now at least 10 minutes have gone by and I can’t see what’s going down but I can see the flashing lights through the trees. At 15 minutes, I call my husband back.

“I’m still here!”

“What! Can’t you leave?”

“NO! The cop told me to wait. How can I leave? I don’t want to get in trouble!” Nerd til the end.

“Call 911 back and tell them you have kids and you need to get home!”

“Right. Father of the year, it’s like 9 o’clock and our kids are in bed. I’m not tying up the emergency line to say I’m tired of waiting for the 5-0 to bust the drunk and I need to get home with my groceries so we can order our Friday night take out! “ Can’t he see I’m involved with something really big here?! This is way bigger than my grilled chicken Caesar. McGruff is my homie; I’m taking a bite out of crime, not out of salad.

So five more minutes go by, and I see the perp pull out, and the cop is behind her! WHAT! He flashes a big bright light at me and I take it to mean I can leave. They drive away, and I’m thinking, that’s it? Is that any way to treat your back up? I don’t even get the 411 on what went down? I gave up my takeout and half my groceries are melting and there’s no bust and I don’t even get cred for a citizen’s arrest!? No props, no nothing?

My mind is whizzing, and just then my cell rings.

Number withheld.

 It’s the cop!

“Hi ma’am (ugh ma’am again), I’m sorry you waited so long. I didn’t know you were going to wait!” Seriously? You TOLD me to wait—hello! I don’t defy the law. I’m a geek. If you told me to stand on one leg I probably would have—even if you do look 12! Men! I hope he doesn’t send mixed messages like that to his wife or girlfriend.

He thanked me for calling and said I did the right thing. Apparently, there was some top secret (read: you can’t know) medical type issue and he was following her to the police station where a friend was going to meet her and drive her home. (I could have freaking driven her home in the time it took for me to wait for the cop to be done with her—hello, save tax money!) But I’m glad to think she got home safely, maybe because of my foray into narc-hood.

I did miss my fun take out, but no good deed goes unpunished—my muffin top was spared the worthless fat and calories—at least for another day!

HO, HO, HO, A BIRTHDAY, AND A BEACH HAT?

20

Posted by muffintopmommy | Posted in Awesomeness, Mom-ness, Retail Therapy, Suburban Madness, Things that make you go....awwww, Uncategorized | Posted on 29-07-2011

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So after I shouted to the weather gods and all who would listen last week about how I was digging the 97 degree temps (Seriously? I took some heat (wink, wink) for that post. Someone musta been hating on me for saying that because they unsubscribed to muffintopmommy after that *apparently controversial* little diddy I posted. *Insert sad face* Maybe it was someone who sells hot cocoa for a living, lives in hotty, hot, hot Texarkana, or just isn’t down with my devil plans. I’ll never know!)

I think they cursed me because I got stuck in some randy weather this week. The hubs and I took the kids to Santa’s Village in northern New Hampshire the other day. It’s a really cute amusement park geared toward younger kids with a Christmas theme. I love it too, because, aside from watching how proud and excited the kids are to be able to ride some of the rides by themselves, well… I’m a total wuss and even I’m brave enough to ride all the rides.  (Even the scary log flume ride which makes me simultaneously hold my breath and think death is imminent, while I clutch one of my kids in a Vulcan death grip because HELLO, why are there no seatbelts in the damn thing?) I totally get it. I get it. Some physics nerd figured out it’s physically impossible to plunge to your death due to velocity or gravity or whatever fangled thing the pocket protector crew are calling it these days but STILL. That just doesn’t compute to an English major who very truly worries about impending bodily harm to her brood.

WILL YOU LOOK AT THAT DEATH DROP?!! *photo courtesy of Santa's Village

Anyway, when we left our house which is a little more than two hours away from Santa’s playland, it was sunny and 75. When we got there, it was 61, cloudy, and intermittently rainy. WHA-AT?

We still had a blast, and I’m here to tell you, Santa is making a list and checking it twice. You heard it here. I trust you’ll be good! better than me

THESE BOYS WERE SCARED STRAIGHT!

Not only was it Christmas in July, it was also my birthday. When you get to be a woman of a *cough* certain age, birthdays can be rather ho hum. But… the hubs never disappoints, and he so sweetly posted this on Facebook after our freezing ass day with Santie:

“Happy Birthday to my great wife and great mother! Oh, and a lucky lady I might add. You are welcome Janet for being able to spend your special birthday at Santa’s Village.”

I had to give him props as he had, indeed, outdone himself this birthday–except for where he sorta implies I’m both his wife and mother. (I let that part go. Marriage = shutting your fig, bat face sometimes.) Instead, you can publish it on the world wide web. Regardless! I responded:

“I AM lucky. Not every gal gets to be serenaded by a freaky, inbred looking elf on her bday and eat a burger that tastes like it’s from the elementary school caf! Romance: alive! Oh, and I almost forgot–scream louder than her 2 year old on the scary log ride!” (Dude, I told you I wasn’t kidding about that log ride!)

It’s all magic, all the time around here. Insert contended sigh. I mean now you know why I drink.

Kidding!

I speak only the truth here at Muffintopmommy. It hasn’t set me free yet, but hot damn, when I got home from my day o’ freezing fun, there was a big, brown box on my front steps!!! The truth got me a prize from Lands’ End!! And if you follow the muffintopmommy page on Facebook, you know they saw my Ready, Set, Scream post about 4 year old screaming for me to wipe his little arse when I was trying to talk to them on the phone about an order. Well, they thought it was  funny and  were happy I mentioned how wonderful their service was (truth!), so they kindly said they’d send me a cover up to go with my bathing suit. I don’t make much from this blogging gig zero, nada, zilch, so I was all, “Squee, hee, hee!” when they told me that. I told the woman I’d be psyched to get another cover up. I love their cover ups and actually wrote a review of one I’d bought earlier in the summer on their site. (Under the alias muffintopmommy. I’m muffintopmommy on yelp, too. This double life is gettin’ kinda crazy. Even the fam is starting to refer to me as MTM.) See!

OUR KIDS HAVE PEANUT ALLERGIES SO I USUALLY MAKE ALL THE CAKES. NOW THAT I KNOW WHAT HUBS AND KIDS CAN DO I'M FIRING MYSELF!

Anyway, there was no cover up in the box! It was even better. Instead, there was funtastic oversized (how better to hide my middle aged eye wrinkles!) sunglasses, which I totally need because I’ve had my others for three years and Klutzy VonKlutzenberg I am, I’ve dropped them on the pavement so many times they’re scratched; a super adorable sun hat to shield my butt white Irish skin from the sun at the beach; and, a perfectly sized tote, simply screaming to be filled with smut mags, books, Cheez-It’s and perhaps an adult beverage or two.

Oh Lands’ End, how’d you know????

Virginia, there really is a Santa Claus! (He lives in Wisconsin and his initials are LE. And his summer stuff is now 65% off. Holla!) Thank you Lands’ End for hooking me up. (And for including a packing slip which said $0.00 because hubs was really eyeing me suspiciously when I said it was a fun box of free swag–what I can I say? I have a shopportunistic reputation. )

Despite the fact that I’d just gotten home from from my 12 hour round trip voyage to the North Pole aka Northern New Hampshire and my makeup was all smeary and I was craving a beery, I had to take a pic of the fun swag in case you want to buy now and save!

I'M NOT CUT OUT FOR THE PLUS SIZE MODELING GIG I IMAGINED. I WAS TRYING TO BLOW YOU A KISS BUT FORGOT TO MOVE MY HAND. SO NOW I JUST LOOK LIKE A REALLY BIG FISH. AMATEUR.

And yes, that is a Lands’ End polo I sported ALL day. What are the odds? (Um, actually, pretty high. Please refer to my reputation.) The shorts are not Lands’ End. They are from a little store I like to call, “Che Marshall’s”.

 I’m not looking forward to my next bday because nothing can top Santa, fun Lands’ End swag, and a muffin top cake! May your birthday this year be so merry!

READY, SET, SCREAM!

18

Posted by muffintopmommy | Posted in Boys, boys, boys! And did I mention, boys?, OH &^%$!!, Random Rage, Retail Therapy, Uncategorized | Posted on 29-06-2011

Tags: ,

Pavlov’s got nuthin’ on my boys.

I pick up the phone, and they’re on me like spanx on a muffin top.

Can’t breathe. Send help.

It doesn’t matter who I’m trying to talk to….my mom, a friend, a teacher, the pizza restaurant, a book publisher sister please, I wish, it’s the same sad sitch.

Today it was Lands’ End, and naturally, it had to do with an already unfortunate subject: a swimsuit. The site was being all crankypants and my online order wouldn’t go through due to “technical difficulties”. (My guess? Every fattie in the continental U.S. and Canada was trying to simulaneously order last minute swimsuits and crashed the system. Computer nerds probably forgot to plan for the late June onslaught of desperate muffintoppers. Amateurs.) Either way, I was not going to miss out on the tankini top that had been sold out last week but now magically reappeared, never mind free shipping. Undaunted in my quest for bargain lycra, I had to go all old skool and actually call and talk to someone. (Kudos to Lands’ End for actually having someone to talk to. Who actually provided wonderful customer service. Muffin top fist bump to LE!)

I’m not on the phone with my muffin top guardian angel from LE for ten seconds when 2 year old tears up on me and starts going all Horseshack toward the phone.

EM....'SCUSE ME WHILE I HEAD TO MY PADDED ROOM!

“I wanna talk to YOU! I wanna talk to YOU! I wanna talk to YOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU! I wanna talk to YOUUUUUUUUUUUUUU!”

Rinse. Repeat. Rinse. Repeat. Louder and prouder. Louder and prouder.

He doesn’t know who YOU is. He doesn’t care who YOU is. But he wants to talk to YOU and he won’t stop until his demands are met. Or until I crawl into fetal position in the corner and start rocking. What? When the men with white coats show up, I’ll stop. I promise. Though white is not my best color, I’m cool with the straight jacket –just gimme a straw for my beer on your way out–thanks, guys.

 

WOULD IT KILL THEM TO MAKE IT IN A PALE PINK?

“I’m so sorry, my two year old demands to talk to everyone…can you *IWANNATALKTOYOU!* still hear me?”

“Oh yes, don’t worry, *IWANNATALKTOYOU*I have a grandson. I understand.” I understand I ain’t getting paid enough by Lands’ End for this gig. Sweet Jesus, woman. Order your fatsuit and be done with it. 

Just then, a voice from down the hall booms out, “Moooommmmm, done POOPING!!!” Code: come wipe my arse, beatch. And make it snappy. I’ve Legos to contend with.

“Excuse me ma’am—– I’m on the phone, one minute please.

“DONNNNE. POOOP-ING!”

“One minute!!!!!” I bellow, which 4 year old interprets as, “Yes please, keep screeching about poop! Flex those 4 year old lungs.”

“MOOMMMMMM! DONEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE. POOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOPING!”

“I’m so sorry ma’am, can you hold one one quick second?” While I shove a roll of Charmin where the sun doesn’t shine.

Yes, *hangs head in shame* I had to put Denise from Lands’ End on hold while I ran and wiped 4 year old’s tush. This was a calculated decision as his butt wiping skills are rudimentary at best suck ass. Further, he despises undies–I’ve tried them all from Power Ranger tightie whities to boxer briefs to boxer shorts. And yet, I’ve found them stuffed behind the toilet, in the trash, and……(breathe deeply–all together now) in the drawer of the bathroom vanity. So you can understand how vital proper butt wiping is. (I really am Cinderella living the dream. My friends from high school and college have MD’s, Ph.D’s, and second homes. I wipe bums.)

Wanna come over? My house is really neato. And stocked with many bottles of antibacterial soap and cleaning products, for your comfort.

Just email me before you stop by—don’t even bother calling. Oh, and pick me up some more straws if you think of it….